


Conversations

by seperis



Series: On Love and Lust at Mutant High [10]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-25
Updated: 2001-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>St. John wakes up knowing this is gonna be a bad day and ends up involved in five conversations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take One: Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted as five separate fics around the theme of a series of conversations. I'm posting them here as five parts of a single story, since they more or less are.

St. John woke up that morning with the distinct impression that something was gonna go wrong.

It wasn't like he had a single psionically sensitive bone in his body--St. John, in fact, considered himself probably one of the most psionically deaf people at the Mansion. Which honestly saved him a lot of stress, so there was absolutely no reason he woke up on one of the most beautiful summer mornings Westchester had ever been blessed with, absolutely unshakably sure something was gonna go wrong. Not little wrong, like the cook forgot to put out bagels or someone forgot to make fried eggs. Not massive wrong, like some idiot messing with Rogue's mind or ole Magneto making a house call for recruiting or killing purposes. But wrong. Very, very wrong.

Bobby was still asleep and St. John brushed his teeth (good hygiene just couldn't go wrong, could it?), got his robe and absently walked out the door. Jubes and Kitty were due back sometimes today, and the class started tomorrow morning (what was advanced tactical anyway?), so he had a day in which he could do absolutely nothing of any kind of use. The very definition of a loafer. Perhaps spend his day staring at that picture of Bobby and reflect on the fact that somehow, he'd managed to not have sex (handjob by Bobby-boy himself aside on alcohol night) in roughly--shit, had it been five months? Whoa. For him, a period of abstinence indeed, and he really hadn't gone that long a dry spell since--well, since the first time he'd actually had sex and found out that this was definitely something fun to be doing with his free time.

Damn. This was ridiculous. He was going to have sex. Normal sex, with condoms and penetration on a bed and all the foreplay he could manage to get in. He wasn't even picky on who it was, because he would be _*damned*_ if he was gonna put his sex life on hold waiting for Bobby to get a clue.

"I wanna know what happened, Jeanie. Now."

Oh my, now what the hell was that? St. John froze fifteen feet down the hall, surprised from his meandering thoughts on his sex life or lack thereof by Logan cornering Dr. Grey against the wall near the stairs. Self-preservation be damned--St. John jumped to the side and ducked behind one of the numerous potted plants that littered the upper floor since the guy with that weird plant-loving mutation (bastard got to Tiffany and damn it, I called dibs on her) had taken up residence.

Oh yeah. Well, he was thankful right now, he was sorry he'd lit the bastard on fire (by accident, of course), and Tiffani was boring anyway.

"Logan, you really should discuss this with Rogue--"

"I will. When I find out just how badly you managed to screw up. Got it? Make it easy, tell me what the fuck I wanna know."

Ooh. St. John settled back and peeked through the ferns to get a better view. Dr. Grey didn't look too comfortable--like she was hopin' someone would wander in and break the tension. Sorry, ma'am, I'm still sorta pissed by that C you gave me on my essay on genetic inheritance and really not too happy about the whole 'giving Rogue more issues' deal. So maybe you just forgive me for not leapin' to your defense, 'kay? Dr. Grey shook her head sharply, beginning to step away, and Logan caught her arm and spun her back--very neat trick, he wanted to watch that again in slo-mo and figure out how to manage it. Not violent, not hard, not even with any particular use of strength--yet there was Dr. Grey, stuck between Logan and the wall and lookin' mighty nervous. So she should.

But Rogue had said...

St. John didn't know very much about the man in front of him. He'd picked up Rogue in Canada for reasons unknown, though St. John, turning it over in his mind over the months he'd known Rogue, just couldn't believe it'd been for sex, attractive though she was. There were easier and less physically dangerous ways of getting laid. He'd stabbed Rogue through the chest, granted, but got her all fixed up afterward. Cool. Whatever the hell had happened on the Statue, which Rogue wouldn't discuss at all and which had led to that nice streak of white in her hair, Logan had been a part of it, and somehow saved her from whatever the hell Magneto had been trying to do. He had claws, a nasty temper, didn't like underwear (maybe he just liked the lack of underwear on women), apparently had a thing for raw meat (no judgement, St. John had a taste for sushi himself) and tended toward the idea that might makes right. Modified--he was an X-Man after all, at least nominally. And he was looking for his past. Okay, good to go. That seemed like a lot, but it wasn't much.

Rogue said he would take the little situation she'd been in badly. Which very well might be true. Thinking on the walls of the isolation chamber, Rogue's hands in bandages, the combat training they'd done--he had to admit, she could be right. She had him in her head after all and knew pretty intimately what he was gonna do under any given circumstance.

But--but, but, but--Rogue of all people knew, secrets didn't stay secrets. They just didn't. Eventually, he'd run someone to ground that would break when enough pressure was applied, and he got the feeling the last three days of quiet, where Logan didn't do anything at all but wander around looking intimidating and talking to Rogue, was along the lines of reconnaissance, checking out the lay of the land. Hiding what he was really doing.

"Somethin' happened. All of these little kids creep around her like she's gonna turn on them at a moment's notice--'cept those friends of hers, and she's doin' her damndest to keep them out of my way. She was bruised when I got here and she's right-handed and usin' her left for anything she has to get done, and shit, she's glued those fucking gloves on. Either she's gone a step up in bein' paranoid, or there's somethin' wrong."

Rogue hadn't told him Logan had great observational skills, though. Damn.

St. John liked deviousness, he really did. And he'd be so much more admiring if he wasn't absolutely sure that Logan had a prioritized mental list of everyone he was going to talk to about the situation, and that he, St. John, was on that list. Along with Bobby, Jubes, Kitty and Remy, and shit, Remy was so guilty, it wouldn't take any time at all to break him down. He'd confess before Logan even had to ask more than a few questions. Hell, he might confess when Logan looked at him wrong. Yes, Logan, I fucked her and almost screwed up her head again because I forgot all about that pesky skin issue.

Hmm.

If Logan had paternal feelings only for Rogue (which St. John, with three days of observation under his belt, sincerely doubted) that was bad enough. If Logan had other interests there (which St. John most definitely thought he did), then it would be a double hit--one, sex period, with Rogue, period; two, sex that got her landed in isolation and more bad dreams, and that whole mess was a completely different kettle of fish, so to speak.

"Jeanie, spit it out."

Ouch. Shit, there was no good way this could work. All Rogue needed was one Remy-specific dream where she spilled into New Orleans-style French and Logan wasn't stupid, he could put two and two together and end up with the proper number. And the proper perpetrator.

"Logan--" Dr. Grey had gotten one word out when the unthinkable happened.

"Johnny?"

Oh dear God. St. John spun on his knees, seeing Bobby emerge from their room--adorable, yes, still rubbing his eyes, blonde hair a mess. And wow, he really was letting it grow out, it reached almost below his eye now. Cute. Sexy, all rumpled. And so not welcome right now, even cute, sexy, sleepy, and rumpled.

And staring at him at his ducked position behind the plant. Oh fuck.

"Bobby?" Dr. Grey said it like a prayer. "I haven't seen him. Try the dining room." A pause. "Logan, I gotta go. We'll talk later." St. John didn't dare move, even breathe, hearing the sounds of her heels going down the hall and quickly to the stairs. A few moments of silence, then a low growl, and St. John motioned frantically at Bobby, dear God, run. Run. Go fast and quick or you, my friend, are next on the list, right this second.

"You might as well come out, kid. I could smell ya from over here."

Oh fucking hell. This so wasn't happening. He couldn't be talking to him.

"St. John, right? Marie's friend? Get the hell up."

St. John slowly stood up, trying to look as casual as possible while his knees shook and Bobby, being Bobby, stood in stunned silence a few feet away. Two things occurred to him--one, Logan had smelled him. Second, Logan couldn't actually see him behind that plant, so he'd been IDed by scent. Not a comforting thought.

"Hey--uh, Wolverine."

"Logan."

"Logan. Right, sir."

A pause, and St. John began to slowly edge toward Bobby, keeping a wary eye on the man that was now leaning against the wall with a speculating look on his face--not very angry, which for some reason St. John interpreted as Bad. Capital B.

"Ummm--"

A slightly cocked head and Logan shifted from the wall, slowly approaching them like he was trying to gauge just how fast they could move if they got spooked. Frankly, St. John knew he was not only thoroughly spooked, he couldn't even get his feet to respond anymore. They were planted, quite firmly, on the hardwood floor, and didn't have the least interest in moving.

"Logan!"

St. John knew he loved Rogue. Loved her dearly, the sister he'd never really wanted until right this second. Her eyes flashed around the scene, taking it in at a glance, and Logan was back against the wall, coolly marking him and Bobby with his eyes for future intimidation before giving her a smile.

Shit, that was a good smile. Not a hint of anything except good humor. Logan-type good humor.

"Hey, darlin'."

"Hey." A pause and St. John watched as she assessed the situation, went through a mental list of options, and chose one, all in the space it took for St. John to get his feet to move toward the frozen (not literally, though God knew, that would have been next) Bobby. "You ready to go eat?"

"Sure." Without a glance at them, he turned toward her, and Rogue gave them a long look that stated clearly 'get out of sight now' which St. John was all too happy to do. His feet moved perfectly, and he got an arm around Bobby and was in the door before Rogue and Logan had even reached the stairs.

"Shit, Bobby, show some fucking sense!" Door closed, Logan and Rogue far gone, Bobby was standing perfectly still in the center of the room. "God, I was hiding--and he was--" Looking right at them, knew St. John's scent--hell, probably knew Bobby's too, they were marked men. They didn't need to worry about Remy spilling--no way in hell St. John was gonna hold up against all that sheer presence, there was just no way. "God, she's gotta tell him." Sinking down on his bed, he stared at the far wall.

He felt Bobby sit beside him, an arm going around his shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Yeah." A pause. "What do you think'll happen?"

What Rogue thought would happen--oh yeah, St. John could see this already and had half an idea of getting down to Remy (who was so wisely laying low right now) and telling him to run, run, run. Of course, not a solution. But hell, it sounded good, and maybe he and Bobby could go with him. He'd heard Greece was great this time of year

"No fucking clue."

Bobby shifted, pushing the blankets down, and then urged St. John back against the pillows, wrapping an arm around his waist. St. John shifted a little (hadn't he said no more sleeping with Bobby until he got a clue or something? Let's make that figurative now--sleep is okay, sex or any variation thereof is not) and turned, burying his head against Bobby's shoulder.

"This'll work out. Rogue'll take care of it." He sounded really, really sure about that. So sure that St. John decided, right there and then, that she would, that she had to. Period.

"Let's get some sleep. Nothing to do anyway. Everything'll be better later."

Bobby was giving _*him*_ comfort. Geez. Not bad though. As Bobby pulled up the blankets around them, St. John decided that bed was just a good idea. Maybe stay all day. Maybe for the next month. A hand stroked his head gently and he shut his eyes, letting Bobby's cool body slowly send him off to sleep.

The End


	2. Take Two: Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which St. John overhears more and also loses a little control.

He didn't want to leave that nicely cool body, and for an entire ten minutes, St. John didn't after he awakened, aware the sun was much farther in the sky than it had been earlier. Wrapped himself closer, burying his head against the hard chest, feeling Bobby's fingers tangle sleepily in his hair. It was innocent enough, he really believed it, and shut his eyes when he brushed his lips along the sternum, feeling Bobby moan softly, shifting a little closer.

For the first time, it wasn't play--even St. John recognized what was moving inside of him wasn't just simple lust and affection and close friendship with the natural sexual tension thing. He'd thought to himself before he might be in love--now he knew he was. Knew it when he lifted his eyes to see Bobby watching him, cool hands coming up to brush along the line of his cheeks.

But Bobby loved Rogue, and St. John, for all his cavalier attitude on sex, didn't want it this way. Which is why he smiled tightly, tearing himself out of bed and going to the shower, pressing himself back against the cool tiles that reminded him of Bobby's fingers with the water reacting to him even set at cold, growing steadily hotter to match the temperature of his body. He got back out, skin reddened, trying to control the burn in his body that needed release so badly he knew anyone stupid enough to come close to him would probably be vaporized. Bobby was gone and he went through the closet, ignoring Bobby's bed, covered in a light sheen of ice. Grabbed a t-shirt and his boots and jeans off the floor, went outside looking for somewhere safe to vent.

Where he trained, of course. No place better.

* * *

Later, he'd have no idea how his instincts, which he didn't have many of, truth be told, had gotten him out of the Mansion without running into anyone. All the basic laws of probability said that he'd have to run into someone, at least one someone, but maybe other people had better instincts and felt it coming off of him. He had to release, he had to do it now, and it took all his concentration to just get out, his body temperature already warming his clothes.

One hundred yards from the school, the training center, down fifteen steps into the cool underground that heated up the second he walked in. He flipped the lights, punching in his security code, and faced the hallway lined with doors, rooms where the students had first been taught to control their abilities. The destructive-potential students, that is. Alpha class kids. The ones that the world was careful never to know about. His kind.

It was built from solid brick overlaid with concrete--St. John had shown early on that given enough time, he could vaporize those too, and had since been reinforced with steel beams and Teflon, layered heavily with some complicated chemical combination that even he had issues with bringing down, though God knew, he hadn't even really tried yet, who knew for sure anymore? The room was large enough to give him space, heavily ventilated, and filled with objects that took time to wreck, time for his mutation to wear itself out. He ignored the protective clothing the Professor had stored in the outside closet, punching his codes into the door and walking in, locking the door behind him and setting it for no entrance as long as the temperature remained above a certain level--other mutants could easily pass out when he was like this, or worse, though as yet no one had tried to get in during training. Then turned and stared at a cinderblock until he felt the rush of heat, close to pure pleasure, and it vaporized before his eyes.

He was stronger. And for some reason, he hadn't expected that.

But it wasn't enough, and he wasn't sure what would be enough--his temperature didn't even drop a full degree, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead as the room slipped above one thirty Fahrenheit and began to climb. The rush was starting, this time outside his control, and he fought it down, trying to focus on the mantra they all learned at the Professor's feet.

It wouldn't control him--he wasn't thirteen and this wasn't Santa Fe. Nothing on God's green earth was sending him back to that. Focus, focus, focus, bring it down, bring it under control, what the hell did he know about love anyway?

Fuck.

St. John let it go, and it happened faster, scaring him, staring at the set of chemical-covered blocks that went up into water vapor that disappeared almost instantly. Pure force, no finesse, he'd separated oxygen and hydrogen into their component parts just by sheer strength. Stumbling backward, he leaned up against the wall that could absorb the heat from his skin, sinking down and bringing it under strict control, shutting his eyes tight until everything went still inside of him. Just below, he could feel it shifting, twisting, wanting out--but he wasn't controlled by his mutation, his mutation was controlled by him. This was who he was, he wasn't thirteen and this wasn't that abandoned building in Santa Fe.

This wasn't.

And he didn't know a damn thing about love. Not a damn thing. But hell, what kind of example did he have, anyway? He could barely remember his parents, and what he could remember, their example of love had been to leave him as quickly as possible with the first flared candle, with the first realization of what he was. So it wasn't love--love was that weird crap between Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey that sometimes creeped him out, and what all the girls at the school called romantic just frightened him. He didn't want that. He didn't want to be bound like that, didn't want to be locked down--he wanted what he had, what was simple. Love was dangerous and complex and caused fights in the middle of the night that woke them all up and gave them headaches when Dr. Grey's shields slipped.

Calm, calm, calm, focus, focus, focus--slowly, he sank onto the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees, shutting down everything but his focus, the warming reality of the floor beneath him and the wall behind him, bringing everything back under strict control. And with the control came a flash of utter embarrassment, that for the first time in a long time, he'd allowed emotion to overrule his reason--and all of it because he woke up and looked at Bobby, and that was just fucked-up. Period. Maybe exclamation point.

No good reason at all.

  
Taking a deep breath, he stood back up, checking physical temperature and ambient temperature both, then turning his full attention to his objects--and this time, focused, focused, focused--the cinderblock went up quick and easy--disturbingly quick and easy--but it didn't push for more, didn't try to slither back out, and he shut his eyes after, checking himself. For the first time, though, he wondered exactly what his limitations really were. Given enough heat, enough raw strength, he could break the bonds between atoms--and that scared him most of all. Don't think about love, don't think about how destructive you really are. Don't think. Focus. Calm Control. Shatter it, but do it with finesse, do it with control. Nothing else. Don't think of anything else.

A few more runs, feeling his temperature slowly drop back into human range, then one more flash that dropped him well below, he leaned against the wall, shivering from the chill, drawing in a breath that was oxygen rich and air that was a little too hot and a little too thick, but the ventilation system had gone into overdrive to clear it out and the air conditioning was coming on, cooling the room back down to something someone besides him could tolerate. Sitting down, he crossed his legs and rebalanced himself, remembering now with affection the Professor sitting with him in this room, not giving a good damn about the danger he was, telling him softly that one day, he'd be able to do it only by will. Telling him he didn't have to be afraid, telling him that one day, he'd learn to understand what he could do. Telling him everything would be good now, he didn't need to be afraid. Handing him over to Bobby early that afternoon and touching for the first time that cooling presence, a hand against his shoulder.

The first time his temperature had dropped without the physical effort, with that friendly hand that told him he wasn't alone anymore.

* * *

When St. John finally dragged himself back, he went straight to the rec room. Jubes and Kitty were back, sprawled across the couch, both grinning to see him. Bobby, an empty plate on the floor, was asleep at the other end, and to his surprise, Remy had emerged from hiding and was trying very hard to casually smoke a cigarette with Kitty using his legs as a pillow. Without much thought, St. John climbed in the mass, resting his back against Bobby's legs after quickly hugging both girls.

"Have fun?"

Jubes grinned.

"You better believe it. So Wolvie is back?"

It had once been amusing to hear Jubilee refer to Wolverine as Wolvie--humanized him just a little, made him that much less an awe-inspiring object of fear. But not now--there was no way he could ever associate that name with stalking animal who wandered the school at large. No way. Not after seeing Dr. Grey in the hall, not after being the focus of those extremely inhuman eyes. Not since--

"Hey guys!"

St. John jumped, turning completely around on the couch, but Rogue was already vaulting over, landing neatly between Jubes and St. John, and Jubilee, after the automatic check of visible skin, gave her a hug, Kitty following (and in the process putting a foot in Remy's stomach that he didn't seem to appreciate all that much). Quick check--no Logan. Not anywhere in sight. Didn't mean he wasn't in range somewhere, watching them, ready to pick off the weakest of the herd--

\--geez, St. John my boy, get over it.

Settling warily back, he found a smile and pasted it on, but Rogue could read deceit and frowned briefly before turning her full attention back to Jubilee and Kitty as they related their adventures in Los Angeles, and St. John decided he was hungry and got up, waving off Rogue's questioning gaze. Lunch should still be out and he wandered into the dining room--

\--and of course, Logan was there.

"I'm not going to listen to this. You have no--"

"Cyke, you just don't get it. I have every right--she was here conditionally. Period." St. John straightened at that, a little startled by the cool tone--not the Logan in the upstairs hall. This was a different one, a little cooler and a lot more controlled, dealing with Mr. Summers, the very epitome of control and anality. Attitude switched accordingly.

"There was no condition--you left her here. You didn't want her, we took her in. You weren't that worried when you left--"

"Conditionally." This time it was a growl that raised every hair on St. John's body. And he, frozen by the doorway, couldn't move to save his life. "I brought her here, you said you could take care of her. Trust--I figured there were worse places for her to be--"

"Such as picking fights in random bars with you?"

Oh fuck, Mr. Summers, what the hell are you doing? But no real reaction, and he stole a look at their faces--and Logan was smiling a little, just a little. Leaning back against the wall by the far door, no visible threat at all, but Mr. Summers looked guilty. He probably smelled like it too--keeping a secret like this couldn't be easy. Vaguely, St. John wondered if anyone had cleaned up the isolation chamber yet--or if Logan even knew there was an isolation chamber.

"The idea of walking out with her has become more and more temptin', Cyke. Don't get me wrong, I like my freedom--but I like her a hell of a lot more."

"And what the hell makes you think she'd walk on your order?"

Whoa--one, Mr. Summers used profanity, which in St. John's experience, was utterly unheard of. No one would believe that. Two--did Mr. Summers know Rogue at all? If Logan told her to jump from the damned roof she'd do it without a second thought. Maybe that was what love was, roof jumping on command--and that image almost made him laugh and it took a physical effort to stop himself, aware that the two men across the dining hall weren't gonna take his presence well.

A flicker of eyes and the ghost of a smile went his way--God, Logan knew he was here. But didn't let him interrupt him, looking back at Cyke--Mr. Summers, damn it!--as coolly as could be.

"You wanna test it?" The slowest smile, utterly confident, the smile of a good bluffer--or someone who knew exactly what they were doing. "Rogue!"

St. John's entire body went utterly still as the two men's eyes met. The rapid sounds of feet behind him, and Rogue emerged beside him, a curious expression on her face. Didn't even notice him, which was damned odd, but her entire focus was on the man across the dining room and she got halfway to them before frowning, stopping. Both eyebrows jumped a little.

"You called, sugar?" Pure casual interest in a voice that her body didn't reflect at all, and Logan locked eyes with Mr. Summers again, waiting him out. Which Mr. Summers wouldn't risk--St. John knew that they didn't want her gone, and even knew why--dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. She was dangerous. Had to be watched, protected, protect others, all the crap the X-Men believed in. Which he had thought he believed in, until he saw Rogue in that isolation chamber, when a switch in his head had been thrown.

They weren't always right. In fact, they could be very, very wrong. And Rogue shifted from foot to foot, taking in everything in front of her with those cool eyes before slowly finishing her walk toward them, reaching out a gloved left hand and touching Logan's shoulder.

"Whatdya need?"

Mr. Summers shook his head sharply and Rogue's head swung around, giving him an equally cool, measuring look. Rogue, constantly testing, constantly practicing, pulling up everything she knew and working out the problem. An eternal student, even now she was learning from this, and St. John could almost see the possibilities flashing in her eyes.

"I'm not playing this with you, Logan." And Mr. Summers turned, walking stiffly out the door. Rogue watched him leave, eyes still a little narrowed, before she flicked them up to Logan, and she was back to normal. Or normal as Rogue got, which was with a smile and utterly clear eyes and a watchful expression that meant she was thinking, thinking, thinking all the time.

"You need somethin'?" she drawled. "Or just playing alpha male with Scooter again?"

"Playing alpha male with Scooter again." An amused rumble and Rogue laughed a little. "Come on--you're gonna be in my class, I wanna see how well you're gonna measure up. You feel like a little work-out?"

Rogue's eyes darkened thoughtfully and she nodded, and St. John saw Logan's quick glance back at him again--and how did he get in these messes?--before he followed Rogue out the far door. It took several seconds to think over what he heard and he was halfway back in the rec room before the sense of Logan's last little statement got through his skull and pounded like a death-knell of hope.

"Oh God," he said, and shit, wasn't it obvious? Was he that stupid? Shit. Jubilee, on the couch, sat up to lean over the back and stare at him as he dropped over and landed on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "Shit. Shoulda made the connection. We got a problem, folks."

The folks gathered closer and St. John gave the rapidly paling Remy a quick glance, then raised himself on his elbows to look at them all.

"Two guesses who's gonna be teaching our combat class."

Nothing for a full second, and the sense of it penetrated them all at the same time. Jubilee sucked in a breath and flopped down--landing on Remy, incidentally, and St. John took that in with some interest.

"All of us in one class. Oh fuck, Johnny, what the hell are we gonna do?"

Shit, he wished he had an answer.


	3. Take Three: Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the kids run interference for Rogue.

"Rogue, may I speak to you for a few minutes?"

Dr. Grey at the rec room door looking concerned just meant bad things. Period. And just by her expression, he could guess the bad thing.

St. John wondered who told her, but it really didn't matter, and in any case, the damage was done. Jubes and Kitty, of course, had guessed when they unpacked and noted the look of Rogue's bed, but hell, they'd keep their mouths shut. Bobby wouldn't breathe a word of anything that could possibly bring Rogue to the attention of the Fearless Leaders, and Remy--well, St. John knew Remy, knew he wouldn't turn on her that way. So it wasn't one of them, so it really didn't matter.

But it did, and it bothered him. He knew the tone of Dr. Grey's voice didn't bode well for Rogue, saw her eyes widen just a little as she untangled herself from him and Jubilee (and St. John didn't miss Dr. Grey's wince at how the five of them were sprawled on the couch with Rogue). Rogue slowly walked over, normal as always, but St. John had seen the expression on Dr. Grey's face and knew exactly what had happened.

They'd found out Rogue wasn't sleeping in her room. He guessed Rogue probably knew that too.

"Johnny," whispered Jubilee, and he nodded, glancing around quickly to see Dr. Grey and Rogue had left the room. "Kitty, go with him--can you phase him through with you?"

Kitty, startled, straightened and elbowed Remy, who grunted something while smoking through yet another--fiftieth? shit, a lot, he was stressed--cigarette.

"Jubes, I don't have that kind of control--"

No, St. John did not want to go through a wall and end up stuck in it. Of all the ways he'd considered that he could die, that one hadn't shown up on the acceptable list by a long shot. Not that he considered it more than, say, once a day, when it hit him yet again that he was training for life of going out and fighting people who would get quite a kick out of killing him.

Of course, he wasn't fixated on the idea or anything. But no death by dephasing in walls. Not the way he wanted to go. Especially considering how bad he'd look in his casket.

"Come on--if they go into the office, I'll need you to run interference. Let's go."

Nodding slowly--and possibly still a little shaken by Jubes' suggestion--she got to her feet and followed him down the hall--careful, listen for the footsteps--toward the offices, down the main hall. Good. Not too much trouble, not with all the damn plants just growing away in all the halls. And what the hell was that guy's name anyway?

Silly thoughts, but they entertained him while they snuck down the main hall and slowly and carefully toward Mr. Summers' office--

\--oh shit, it was the elevator. They were going down to Dr. Grey's office.

Both St. John and Kitty came to a dismayed stop and ducked behind a pillar as Dr. Grey put in the codes and the door obediently opened. Just barely, St. John could see Rogue watching, almost casually, as Dr. Grey's fingers flicked over the keys--well, Rogue had the new code now.

But they sure as hell didn't.

"What the hell do we do now?" Kitty hissed, pressed beside him to the pillar. St. John considered all the options.

"Who else would have the codes?"

"Teachers," Kitty answered, frowning, then her face lit up. "Logan does--"

St. John actually froze--well, not as in cold, though his body certainly felt that way the second the sense of Kitty's words penetrated.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" he hissed. "You wanna send Logan down there? Rogue'd kill us, and he sure as hell ain't gonna tell us without wantin' to find out what we want with them. And besides, that'll take too long to find him--we gotta be down there _*now*_."

Plan. He needed a plan. He was good at plans--reason over emotion, think things through. Go to option one.

"Kitty, can you phase down to the next level and bring the elevator up?"

"It's coded on all levels--I checked it out while the codes still worked. And don't ask about phasing through the elevator door--it stays bottom until it's called--damn good security--hold it." She blinked, obviously thinking something through. The dark eyes narrowed, and St. John held his breath. "Okay. Got an idea. Remy. Be right back." Down the polished floor she ran, phasing straight through the wall in her way, and St. John slowly came out from behind the pillar, looking at the elevator. Remy couldn't have the new codes--they had enough sense to keep stuff like that from a semi-reformed thief. Okay. So there it was. No codes. Elevator, only way down, no codes. But there had to be a way.

"...and no codes." Kitty's voice was desperate, and he wished, just a little quieter. No need to advertise, babe. Really.

"Cher, Remy don't--"

"St. John--"

Shit, of course not.

Elevators only way down. Which was security. Keep everything safe. Of course, also down there were the labs, the medical facilities. Big things. Things that wouldn't fit in the elevator. Hangar for that, had to have an outside entrance somewhere, but hell if St. John knew where and doing an inch by inch search was out of the question--and hell, it'd take forever to get over there.

Hmm. Things that could go boom down there. Big boom, gotta run fast, maybe the computers go haywire and can't use the elevator. Maybe a fire or a chemical spill. Things--

"Stairs."

Both Kitty and Remy blinked, staring at him, then Remy suddenly blinked again, thoughtfully, nodding. St. John took two steps, coming very close to picking Remy up and shoving him against the wall in hopes the answer would come just that much faster. No, not a good idea. But a tempting one.

  
"You've cased this whole place and you know every door. Which ones wouldn't work?"

* * *

It took two minutes--they weren't far away and St. John stared at the almost hidden panel before opening it up and checking it out. Coded. Fuck

"Kitty, can you phase down one level and find this? They wouldn't code the inner doors--these are emergency based, take too long if they had to punch through every time. Can you get down like that?"

Kitty nodded slowly--thinking through her control, he could see her centering herself.

"Eight foot ceilings--when I get through, it's gonna be a fall."

"You know how to fall." And she did--you didn't get through the first day of training without learning how to fall. Relax your body, let nature take it's course. Then get your ass back up and go. He'd seen her go through eight foot thick metal and had seen her go through her own bed. She could do this.

"I know how to fall."

It was a slightly surreal and fascinating experience to watch Kitty phase over, sinking in--her control wasn't great yet and it was probably a little spooky for her to do it at all, so it went faster than probably she was ready for, and her head disappeared--then nothing. Like quicksand on fast forward. He and Remy both held their breath, waiting, waiting, waiting--and in fifteen seconds, he heard the magnetic locks flip over and Kitty was smiling. And panting. But smiling definitely.

"Perfect, babe."

It was only four flights--Dr. Grey's office was on the second below level with the medlab, and they emerged a little disoriented, staring down the hallways trying to decide which way to go.

"Rogue--" It was Mr. Summers, and he didn't sound happy. Oh shit.

Carefully, St. John and Kitty snuck toward the voices--easy enough, Mr. Summers had a very carrying voice. Stopped at the office door and St. John carefully peeked in.

In normal terms, it would probably be called a lab. Yes, it had a desk and chair and more shelves than St. John even wanted to think about, full of frightening amounts of massive books full of long Latin words that named diseases, disorders, and other sundry. But it was also where Dr. Grey did her own projects. A good lab table, a selection of some very interesting chemical compounds that he had an urge to check out. Microscope. Doctor things.

Kitty leaned over his shoulder to check it out as well and he adjusted his balance back to his heels and grabbed the doorframe with one hand--careful, babe, we so don't wanna be caught.

Dr. Grey, and Mr. Summers were nearer the door, and St. John supposed that if they hadn't been so totally focused on Rogue, they might have just sensed him--because shit, he was less than four feet away. Rogue was curled up in a chair, looking less like herself--looking--God.

Oh God, what the fuck had they been saying to her?

On one hand, he understood--Rogue was with her teachers, her guardians, the people who fed and clothed and housed her, and she didn't take that lightly. And years of conditioning--years and years and years of conditioning--that meant that the word teacher, guardian, was synonymous with respect, with being right. She was Rogue, but she was also an eighteen year old girl being confronted by the only true authorities in her life, the ones that decided what she ate, what classes she took, and what her training would entail. For all intents and purposes, her parents, and she didn't take that lightly either. So she sat in that chair and listened because even Logan in her head couldn't quite break eighteen years of that kind of mindset.

Though he really wished he could. Really wished Logan would wake up right this second.

"Rogue, we only want what's best for you." Dr. Grey, seated in another chair, had leaned a little forward, and her expression was all worry--honest worry. He didn't doubt for a second that she believed whatever the hell it was she was telling Rogue.

That didn't make it any easier to forgive though. Not with Rogue looking like that.

"I understand you think you have feelings for Logan. And that--that you can somehow coax him into reciprocating his feelings--by doing this."

By sleeping in his room? Sleeping? Of course, they wouldn't assume that she was just sleeping, that Logan was worried about her, because they'd lived with her nightmares so long they really didn't realize--in that forest for trees way--what the problem was. Or that there was a problem at all. They assumed that Rogue had crawled into bed with Logan and the two were fucking like bunnies. Which he really wouldn't put past Rogue, in all honesty--but not Logan's style.

No, on short acquaintance, St. John just didn't think that Logan was gonna combine Rogue's bad nights with relationship sex. Or even casual sex. So this didn't say much about their opinion of their own teammate--or Rogue, for that matter.

"But Rogue--he's years older than you are. Perhaps decades--and he is not the type to stay in one place for very long, even should--something--happen between you."

"Dr. Grey--"

"Jean, Rogue. I'm not speaking to you as your teacher."

Rogue's back straightened, eyes going wide. Getting a little strength from that.

"Oh? Summoning me out of the rec room wasn't that? Then why the hell am I here?"

Mr. Summers winced, but merely waited as Dr. Grey frowned, tapping her manicured fingers neatly on the arm of her chair.

"This isn't an issue of conduct, Rogue. We aren't here to try and restrict you--"

"I don't need to hear this, Dr. Grey. If you'll excuse me--" Discomfort on every line of her body--she wanted to be gone, she wanted to be gone now, and even from the door, he could see her increased respiration, the way she flexed her hands in her lap, the shift of her legs. But it was conditioning that held--she couldn't walk out on them in cold blood. Angry, yes, and he thought she very well might be, but under it all--just that hint of uncertainty that she covered so well with them, with her friends. That hint that adults, somehow, could always smell on you like some sort of weird perfume.

"Rogue, you do need to hear this." And that was Mr. Summers now, speaking for the first time. Leaning forward a little, elbows on knees, deep in his most serious look and mood. Tone shifting--he wasn't into the friend bullshit Jean was trying to pull. He was all business. "After the incident with Remy, you understand our concerns on the matter. Remy was injured quite badly--"

It snapped over then--he could actually see it, when she straightened her back, head coming up--they hit a vulnerable spot with such accuracy that even though he understood their reasoning, he hated them for it, for pulling out one slip in six months--fuck, one slip that wasn't even her fault. She didn't need this.

"He was unconscious for twelve and a half hours and was pretty willing to try again if I was interested." A pause, then her voice changed, cooling down as quickly as it'd flared. She was keeping her temper. "Your concerns are noted, but whatever goes on between me and Logan behind his door is my business and his. Age of consent and all. I appreciate your concern, I do. But I'd prefer you stayed out of my private life." She stood up--fingers still flexing, but she was back in control of herself. She was Rogue again, not frightened by anything--probably remembering she had Logan only a few floors away, and shit, wouldn't he just flip to hear this conversation? God, so glad, so glad they hadn't gone to him. This was bad. Logan here would qualify as Worse.

"Rogue--"

"What are you worried about? That I'll fuck him or that he'll take advantage of me?" Rogue shook her head, eyes shutting briefly, before she began to walk by. "I'm not gonna discuss it, Cyke. So just quit."

"I don't want to see you in the isolation ward again, Rogue. That frightened us all badly. We didn't know--we didn't know if you'd make it out whole."

Rogue's body went perfectly still and St. John watched the expression on her face shift, her eyes go down for just a second. A second of weakness that he knew they caught.

"You have no right," she breathed. Didn't move.

"We sat through it, Rogue. How much do you remember of what happened?"

Rogue remembered damn little. Remembered Remy touching her, remembered the flush of sensory information, remembered seeing Jubes briefly--first clear moment, she said, was snapping back out with Jubilee sitting with her, trying to talk her out, talk her down. Broken fingers, a sprained ankle, she'd been shocked to find the injuries, he remembered her staring at her hands, at her feet, stripping down to the skin to categorize the damage to her body. No, Rogue didn't have any clear memories, and St. John had always thought that was a good thing, remembering how that room had looked with her curled up in it.

"If you'd gotten lose--what would have happened?" Mr. Summers stood up, and there was honest worry in his voice. "You could have injured not just yourself, but others as well. We're concerned, because it isn't just your private life--your actions do affect others. Not just you."

If she hadn't been locked up, it probably wouldn't have happened at all. They all knew that, but for the first time, he wondered if she knew that. And one look at her face told her that she didn't--shit, shit, shit, Logan needed to know, he needed to know yesterday, before this conversation could take place.

And she needed to be out of there, now, right now, before anything else could happen, before they got another thought into her head that could potentially unsettle her again.

Backing away, St. John crouched a little away from the door--they were saying more now, telling her what happened that day, things he didn't even know because they'd been the only witnesses. Things that hurt her to hear, grounding into her the difference, why she had to be more careful than the rest of them, she had to be--

Fuck them. They weren't gonna do this to her.

"Kitty." Hoped she could hear the whisper.

"I'm thinking--fuck, where's a telepath when you need one?"

He was utterly relieved she was following his train of thought so well. Taking a breath, he began to think. Walking in would stop it, but St. John didn't think that Rogue would take that too well. And then, somehow, Dr. Grey and Mr. Summers would find out about the door trick and shit, they might need that again. Shit, shit, shit. Another breath. Think, St. John. Think. There's a way. A distraction. They needed a distraction.

Well, they had stairs for a reason, after all.

"Kitty, find the fire detector."

Blinking, she stared at him as he straightened. Gave him a long look, then nodded quickly.

"Johnny--"

He grinned, feeling the rush of heat that he called up--by will, no emotional tangles required. Very nice. Control.

"It'll be just a little fire."

Very little.


	4. Take Four: Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> St. John has a little talk with Rogue. Bonding over blankets.

"Are you mad at me or somethin'?"

St. John looked up from his bed, a little startled, shifting so he could see Bobby as he got dressed. Jeans, nice shirt, hair still wet from the shower. Very delicious. Question asked. He had to answer. Was he?

"No."

Shit, he wasn't sure. Was he mad at Bobby?

Bobby, however, took it at face value and finished dressing, grabbing his shoes from the closet and dropping on his bed to put them on.

"You sure you don't wanna go?" Nothing more than curiosity, question dismissed from mind. St. John had said no, therefore no issue of anger. Didn't occur to Ice Boy that maybe St. John wasn't even sure of the answer to the question. Sometimes, Bobby-boy had all the sensitivity of a goat chewing on aluminum cans. St. John shook his head quickly (imagery of Bobby chewing thoughtfully on a can notwithstanding), turning back to the magazine, but the thought wouldn't leave his head, and why wouldn't it anyway? It was a simple question that he hadn't been able to find an answer to. Was. He. Mad. At. Bobby. Question mark. Damn, he had no clue.

"Okay. We'll be late, so I guess I'll see you at breakfast." Looking uncertain. Maybe a little nervous, and St. John nodded absently, waving a hand goodbye while he kept his focus on the magazine like it was the most interesting thing on the planet, not realizing until several seconds later that it was upside down. Damn, don't let Bobby see that. A pause, then the sound of Bobby's feet going to the door, the door opening and closing, and down the hall Bobby went, to club and maybe make out with Kitty.

Shit. He rolled on his back and closed his eyes, letting the magazine slither to the floor.

This was so not the person he wanted to be. St. John did not sit around in some sort of weird Dawson's Creek-esque brooding thing, waiting patiently for his Joey--or whoever the hell was with whom these days--to figure out the Meant To Be portion of the show that was pretty much self-evident to everyone but the one languished after. He was a mutant, not a teen angst victim, and there it was.

Grabbing his pillow and a spare blanket, he got up and decided to find something else to do. Like, now. Before he caught himself doing something worse, like pulling out that damn picture and using it for recreational purposes, and _*why*_ in the name of God had he asked Rogue to do that? Though it was a damn good picture. She could really draw.

Five steps out the door, right downstairs, it was a warm night, he'd go outside, maybe meditate or contemplate the trees or read his magazine--the magazine that was on his floor and shit, now he'd have to go back for it. Shit. Turning, he stormed back halfway down the hall and was startled by a sound that he knew--_*knew*_\--he could not possibly have heard. Because Kitty and Jubes were clubbing with Bobby and Remy, and Rogue was probably trying to convince Logan that she'd love to be drawn naked or whatever the hell it was they did behind that door, and while it might not be sex or any variation thereof, he knew it couldn't all be sleep.

No one could sleep that much.

But there was that sound, and it sounded like he felt--which was bad and almost enough to make him walk by the girls' door. Almost. However, not exactly in the emotional peace and stability zone himself, there was something appealing about being able to share the misery. He pushed the door open to see Rogue curled on her bed, crying.

And that stopped him, because aside from that one day, he'd never seen her cry. Rogue fought for what she wanted or she worked for what she wanted. Rogue just didn't cry. Period.

Rogue didn't look up, didn't even react, which in some way made it worse, because Rogue of all people was hyperaware of her surroundings, always worried about someone coming too close--and all those reflexes of hers were good, damn good. Pausing, somewhere in him he knew she wouldn't like this, not at all, not being seen when she wasn't in control.

"Rogue?" Fuck it. He felt like crap, she felt like crap, they should definitely feel like crap together. That's the whole point of having friends, after all.

Head came up, so sharply he knew she'd definitely been too lost in her own misery to even guess someone else was around. Stared at him a second through red-rimmed eyes, startlement replaced instantly by anger. One hand, covered in the edge of her sheet, came out to swipe angrily at her tears.

"Oh fuck, get the hell out, Johnny."

As bitchiness went, it was pretty subdued. For Rogue, anyway.

He almost did too--he knew all about wanting to curl up somewhere and not let anyone see you. He could write the fucking treatise on the subject, truth be told. And so far as he could tell, it'd never done anything but made him feel that much worse and he usually ended up with an upper level temperature that required another hour of meditation to bring down, a headache, and a seriously nasty attitude for hours later directed at anyone who crossed his path.

So instead, he hoisted his pillow higher and secured his blanket under his arm, Under Rogue's startled eyes, he walked across the room, climbing over her to sit against the wall, dropping his pillow beside hers. Gave her a speaking look before pushing her blankets down and sliding under them, then bracing himself on an elbow to look down at her.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She was too startled to be angry, which was good, because Rogue-anger tended to be verbal and lengthy and sometimes, on the training ground, ended up bruising. So to speak.

"Talk." Settling himself, he found the edge of her blanket, pulling it up to his hips, and looked startled when she rolled over completely, reddened eyes staring reproachfully into his. "Look, if this is about the fire alarm--"

"Yeah, sugar, that was interesting." She straightened a little, then shifted so an arm was tucked neatly under her head. "How the hell bored did you get to start superheating metal like that? And where the hell did you do it? Even the sublevels went off."

St. John shifted, looking innocently at the far wall.

"Oh, you were down there?"

An odd expression crossed her face.

"Yeah. You're just lucky you didn't get caught. What, you and Bobby-boy decide to play game of chicken with the building or somethin'?"

He'd figured she'd know what happened. Didn't guess why, and that was good. Let's keep it that way, Johnny-boy.

"Where's Logan?" he asked, pushing one of her legs over and wishing he'd grabbed his bike gloves. Oh well--he had his blanket tucked between them. Glancing down at her, he took in the dark blue t-shirt and when he'd kicked her he'd felt the flannel pajama bottoms and the cotton socks she always wore to bed.

Another odd expression.

"Um--he and Cyke and Co went on a mission. They won't be back til later, so--I'm here tonight."

Here tonight. Not asleep in Logan's room where they had a several-day streak of good-Rogue nights, not even a peep in the hall--either she was sleeping better or Logan did a better job than them at getting her up. Shifting a little more, St. John finally got comfortable and caught her eye. A delicate flush stained her cheeks and he suddenly wondered if she'd really taken the Leaders' little talk to heart. Shit, and she'd be pissed as hell if she knew they'd listened in on it, too, which meant approaching it directly was so out of the question.

Before he could get a way to put the thoughts together, Rogue rolled over on her side to face him, one gloved hand (she slept in gloves when she was alone? What kind of weird emergency would she need gloves for during sleep?) going out to tentatively touch his shoulder.

"You gonna talk to Bobby anytime soon?" she asked, and St. John knew he flushed, and not a delicate Roguey-flush either. Something hot and bright that he knew was rushing over his entire body. Rogue snickered and her fingers dropped away and he caught them quickly with his free hand.

"Men don't talk."

"You're eighteen, sugar. You're not a man."

He snorted.

"Thanks, Roguey. I need that, you know? Just on top."

Her smile faded a little and she tilted her head to look at him, but she didn't pull her hand away.

"Johnny--you know I don't give a good damn who is with who 'round here, ya know? But you and Bobby--honey, this has been several months. Just sit him down, explain what's goin' on in your head. He's not stupid, he's a good boy. Just--dense. You're not makin' it clear."

"He wants you." And there was no way there had been actual resentment in his voice--no way in hell. Rogue sighed, shaking her head.

"He wants the idea of me, sugar. He doesn't know me." Another sigh, and he shifted a little closer--Rogue did her best difficult sharing when there was physical contact, her greatest level of comfort achieved. He supposed she associated it now with trust, since the only ones who touched her were her friends, and of course, Logan. At his motion, she lifted her head and he carefully slid an arm under her head, and her face was neatly against his clothed shoulder. "He likes--he likes the idea of something broken he gets to fix. He wants to be the one to do it, to make me better. He doesn't understand--he doesn't get that I'm not fixable."

"Rogue, that's bullshit. There's nothing--"

"Hush." Absently, her hand felt the skin of his wrist--she was concentrating now. "Johnny, you and the others--you've seen some things. But--I'm not fixable. I'm gonna be broken for the rest of my life. I'm never gonna be just me again, with only my own thoughts in my head. I'm always gonna be--more. And less, I guess." She blew out a breath and he felt her relax against him. "I don't sit around and mull the whole 'Rogue will be deprived of human contact' thing, because I'm not, in every way that counts. But--" she lifted her hand from his, taking her glove between her teeth and pulling it off, showing off the white skin. "See this? My weapon, whether I want it to be or not."

He looked at the bare hand, the long fingers, taking the sheet in his hand and carefully brushing his fingers along her skin, looking at the almost healed wounds. Left hand hadn't taken the heavy damage of her right hand.

"I'm not afraid of you."

She drew in a shuddering breath.

"You don't hafta be, sugar. I'm scared every single minute for you. For all of you."

Ouch. St. John wrapped the fingers in his hand, drawing her closer, not liking how that sounded. Wondered what it must be like, to take their casual touches and be afraid all of the time. Hating the Leaders, because he knew that Rogue just wasn't the type to brood like this--they'd put these thoughts back in her head and she was sitting in here alone, away from Logan's room, because they'd shattered her control again and she didn't want to be unbalanced in front of Logan. Running the sheet-covered hand up her arm, he finally came to her face.

"If I lose control, I can cremate you in under fifteen seconds. Not even water vapor left."

Her eyes widened a little, a quick breath from between parted lips.

"Bobby once gave a girl at a club frostbite. Just when he kissed her. Kitty had quite a thriving career as a street thief before she came here and once phased through a wall with a seventy foot drop on the other side. Jubes--well, ask Jubes one day about Los Angeles. Logan put nine inches of adamantium through your body during a dream, and ole Mr. Summers is death with two eyes if he even stumbles and his glasses come loose. You're not the only one with issues, babe. There's a damn good reason we're all here and not wandering the world lookin' for something to destroy." A pause. "I'm not scared of you, Rogue. You can't do anything to me that I can't do to myself just as well or more thoroughly."

"I don't have your control."

"You will."

He meant it, knowing her, knowing the will that hid underneath her smiles and behind her dark eyes.

"Bobby--" he stopped, sighing softly. Knowing she wasn't going to let it drop. And shit, he'd dragged out her personal life, so he supposed she deserved the same in return. "If he wants--more--he'd know, right?"

"Not if you don't even give him the option." A pause, and she reached down, pulling her glove back on, and he felt cool leather against his face, a contrast to the heat he felt at thinking of Bobby. "Is he bein' particularly dense? Yeah. He's eighteen and all hormoney or whatever. Johnny--he ain't touchin' anyone but you. And trust me, I'd know. He thinks of it--as friends, you know? With benefits, I guess the term would be. You want serious, he don't know that." Her mouth quirked. "And makin' out with Kittycat and Jubes on one night probably didn't cement in his mind the idea that he's more than a friend to you."

Fuck. Drinking night.

"Who said I want anything serious?" Wow, and he really _*couldn't*_ sound any less convincing.

"The fact that you haven't said you don't. Not to him, not to me. Your silence on the subject is just deafening, sugar. I know all about wantin' things you think you can't have. But--you gotta jump. Just do it. Walk in, sit him down, get some things straight. I think he'll respond well."

"Or he'll say fuck no and walk out, and I've lost my best friend."

For a second, he saw something flicker in her eyes, something that was both hope and fear.

"I know." Almost a whisper. "Trust me, sugar, I know all about that."

They were both quiet and he watched the movement of her mouth and carefully shifted onto his back. She began to pull away--and he did want her to sleep comfortably, so he let her. Grabbed his blanket and tucked it over her arm, and pulled her back with a grin, so her face and body were rested on a very well-covered arm and chest. Absently, one gloved hand rested on his chest, drawing idle circles, and he was an adolescent, that did things. Grinning, he shook his head.

"You don't have to stay, Johnny."

"You sleep better when you're not alone," he answered. "I do love you, babe, but I'm not gonna be dragged back in here from my room because you take a bad trip through your own dreams. Conveniently, I'll be right here to wake up. Save me a trip through cold halls. Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," she muttered but he heard the edge of amusement in her voice. "Tell me you're gonna talk to Bobby."

Turning his head, he felt her hair brush his cheek.

"I'll talk to Bobby."

"Cool." He listened to the pattern of her breathing. "And Bobby's right, sugar. You _*are*_ warm."

That brought both his eyes wide, but she snickered and he heard her drifting off to sleep. Oddly comforted by the girl in his arms, he went to sleep too.


	5. Take Five: Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> St. John's got a few little problems. How you _don't_ wanna wake up in someone else's bed.

"Don't you fucking dare try that crap, Jeanie."

Logan. Logan's voice. He didn't dream about Logan. Nightmares yes, but Logan didn't call him Jeanie.

St. John woke up to Logan's voice and the feel of Rogue twisting a little beside him and quickly pulled his arm from under her head, trying to remember what he'd seen Bobby do when she got like this. Nightmares, dreams, bad things, shit, and what time was it anyway? He couldn't even remember where the clock was.

"Logan, we don't need more dissension in the ranks. Try, just once, to think of someone other than yourself. She's--"

"Mine to worry about. You and Cyke go fuck up the other kids' heads if that's how you get your kicks." The stomp of boots. "What the fuck did you say to her? Yeah, I know you had one of your patented little chats--she was acting fucking odd all afternoon. You wanna make this hard, darlin'? We'll make it hard."

"Logan." Rogue whispered, and St. John looked down quickly--shit, she was still asleep. One gloved hand twisted in the blankets, trying to push them off. "Don't."

"Rogue," he hissed, looking uncertainly down at her writhe on the sheets. Fuck, Bobby just sat by her, but he'd seen Jubes hold her down before when she started getting seriously upset. Especially after the isolation room situation. Rogue would get scary then, mumbling out words that didn't string together to make anything that made sense at all, trying to fight her way out of something, but--but--but--

"Fuck you, no!" He almost jumped as she jerked again, and grabbed her wrists, pinning them down. "Let me out!"

Fuck, that could be heard in the hallway.

"S'okay, Rogue."

"Marie?" Logan now, boots coming this way. Suddenly, she escaped his grasp and one leather-covered hand went around his throat--oh fuck, this couldn't be good. Getting her wrist, he shifted until he was on top of her and kept her other wrist down, trying to pry her fingers loose.

This hadn't made his top ten list of ways to die, either. Oh fuck.

"Logan--" Jean again, her footsteps following a little too fast. Like she was trying to stop him or something, and shit, Dr. Grey, have you lost your mind? Of course, he certainly hoped Dr. Grey continued to block Logan's attempts to get in this room--looking down, Rogue was beginning to seriously fight him.

"Rogue?" The footsteps were coming closer and as St. John got her hand down, he realized very abruptly how bad this really would look when Logan walked in.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Go to bed, Bobby." Dr. Grey, strained, holding on to control by the thinnest thread.

Bobby was home? St. John craned his neck to check the time--far wall clock? Yep, we're good--yeah, two in the morning, that was about right. Jubes and Kitty would be next, and shit, let them get in here first, so he could get out of the way before Logan walked in.

In worst case scenario, Logan came in to see St. John sitting on top of and holding down a thrashing Rogue while he, St. John, was dressed in boxers and a t-shirt. Shit, if he saw that, he'd jump to the wrong conclusion too. Oh fuck, this wasn't happening, it just wasn't.

"No," Rogue muttered, and her whole body arched, almost unseating him. Bracing a knee on either side of her hips--yeah, you're dead, Johnny, you are so fucking dead--St. John bore down a little harder on her wrists and tried to shake her. "No--don't--please--"

"Roguey, wake up. Shit, get up!" Slapping her was out of the question, even if he'd seen Jubes do it before--and even should he so lose his mind as to let her get one wrist free so he could. Some kinds of conditioning just held--you don't hit a girl. Never. Except in the practice ring, because, shit, it hurt when Rogue got all intensely concentrated on kicking your ass. But only in the ring, not here. Not in her bed while suffering from nightmares.

Shit, being a gentleman sucked.

"Logan, we'll handle this--"

"What's going on?" Jubes, oh thank God, get your ass in here now, girl. Now. Outside, more feet, and they were getting mighty close to the door--he got the feeling Jean was physically standing between the door and Logan, and that couldn't be a good thing. He just didn't think Logan had too much gentleman conditioning in him.

"Yeah, I see how you handle it--you leave it up to the kids to watch out for her. What the fuck are you doin', Jean? Get the fuck outta my way."

"Logan--"

"Is Roguey havin' another nightmare?" Jubes was coming down the hall, sounding her normal perky self--nothing ruffled Jubilee. "Where the hell is she?"

Wow, that was a loaded question. St. John would guess Logan hadn't found Rogue where he expected her to be--his room--and ran right into Dr. Grey during the search.

More footsteps and thank God, it was Jubes at the door, he'd know the sound of her heels anywhere, Jubes, who would figure out immediately what was going on. The door opened--and really, St. John hadn't realized how close everyone was. She took one look inside--those behind her tried and he could swear Logan took a step forward--and Jubilee's eyes widened. She darted in, shutting the door tight and flipping on the lights.

"Oh fuck, St. John, get the hell away from her before--"

"You hold her down!" What, did she think he was doing this for kicks or something? "She fucking tried to kill me and I'm pretty sure she'd have taken it wrong if she woke up with a lot of me dead and a lot of me in her. I wouldn't take it that well either! Get the hell over here!"

Jubilee flipped the lock just as a hand outside came down on the knob. Outside was a growl--oh shit. Scooting across the room, she pulled off her heels, automatically assuring her yellow jacket was in place, then delicately placed her hand on Rogue's shoulder.

"Rogue, get up. It's a dream. Honey, baby, wake up. Everything's okay."

Rogue bared her teeth a little--kind of chilling. Like she wanted to bite something and St. John remembered the deer all of a sudden and his stomach turned over.

"Let me out. Lemme out. I don't wanna--"

Jubilee stared down at Rogue, taking a breath that hissed between her teeth.

"She's dreaming about isolation--"

"Yeah. I guess that little chat with the Leaders triggered somethin'." Another jerk of Rogue's body. "Jubes, do something. The man has adamantium claws. He's not gonna ask questions until after I'm dead, ya know? Get her calm or get on her and let me off."

Jubilee nodded, and warily placed her hands just below St. Johns on Rogue's arms. Instantly, he began to pull away, and close, so close, he'd be off and away and no way would anyone get the idea that he had some weird thing for attacking girls in their sleep, especially girls with protectors that could turn you into confetti in less time than it took to say the word confetti. Oh yeah. Oh yeah--

Door broke open--whether it was adamantium or just sheer strength, St. John never knew, though he heard the sound of metal faintly. Several people spilled in, and Logan took one look and stopped dead in the center of the room--St. John saw the expressionless eyes light on him for just a moment--before Jubilee freed Rogue's wrists abruptly to face Logan, keeping physically between him and the interesting antics on the bed, and St. John lunged to bring her hands back down before that hand could find his throat again.

"Wolvie." How the _*hell*_ could she say that with a straight face? "Look, it's not--

"Let me the fuck out, Jeanie!" Rogue's entire body arched, almost unseating him, and St. John took a breath, gritting his teeth together, hoping to God someone would get the hell over here and help him out--under normal circumstances, he was much stronger than Rogue. But stronger in a nightmare scenario up against Rogue's hysterical energy was a totally different story. "Not here, not now, I can't, let me go, lemme go, lemme go _*now*_, I can't--oh God no--" the words dropped to mumbles again, and her head twisted to the side, and he remembered her in the corner of that room, her head turned away from them with the marks of tears staining her bruised face.

Oh dear God. Dr. Grey stumbled in, green eyes wide and shocked--hell, hadn't she _*known*_ at all what was going on with Rogue? Focus, focus, focus, get Rogue down, don't think about the idea of your intestines strewn over the floor if Logan reacts before he thinks. Don't think about the fact that if she gets loose, she'll get you in her head and another round of multiple personality disorder--though maybe you'll be nicer to her in her head, you know? Maybe you can tell yourself now not to bother her too much. No. Don't think about that. Think about keeping her down, keeping her still--

\--get her out of this before she says something and Logan knows what happened.

"ROGUE!"

Her eyes snapped open abruptly, her entire body going perfectly still. Blinking, she stared up at him, and he carefully freed her wrists, hoping to God he hadn't injured her. Absently, she pulled her hands down from above her head, completely unaware of anyone else in the room. Rubbed her wrists absently.

"Sorry," she whispered, and he watched her shiver convulsively. "Just--remembered too much, I guess. I'm sorry."

"Remembered what?"

Logan's flat voice snapped her head around fast and she struggled up, almost knocking into St. John, who grabbed her shoulder to balance himself. A glance at Logan told him that it probably wasn't the brightest idea in the world and he quickly pulled his hand away, taking Jubes' arm and climbing back on the floor. Jubes pulled him back--and he was glad about that, damn it--

"Logan." She threw her legs over the side of the bed, eyes roaming quickly around the room, marking everyone--Bobby by the door, Kitty and Remy nowhere to be found--smart move--Dr. Grey and Logan standing in the center of the room, then him and Jubes standing by the bed. "Just a--just a dream."

Nothing--St. John felt himself drawing away, Jubes with him, not sure what to do or even how to do it even if there was something. Rogue's head went down for a second, and he could see the tension in the muscles of her back, the way her gloved hands clenched into the mattress on either side of her.

"Jean?" he asked quietly--so quietly, so evenly. Rogue began to stand up, but sat back down the second Logan took a step forward--but not toward her. Without preamble, he ducked by the bed, into her closet, and that was just odd enough that Bobby took a step in the door and they all moved forward, despite better judgement. Logan came back out with Rogue's jacket in his hand, grabbed her by the upper arm, and pulled her off the bed. Startled, she didn't really respond, probably still a little dazed.

"Logan, what are you doing?" Jean's voice came out just as quiet as Logan's. He turned slightly.

"Tell Cyke time's up, Jeanie. You don't wanna explain, I'll get the answers the old fashioned way. I'll get her stuff later."

"You can't take her, Logan."

Rogue blinked a little, had just started to pull away when her eyes went to Dr. Grey. Instantly, she was replaying in her mind that confrontation with Scott, St. John knew she was, putting things together. Making a choice faster than he'd ever thought she could. Shifting, she got her jacket from Logan's hand, sliding it over her shoulder.

"Okay." Her breathy voice brought all attention back to her, and St. John watched her pick her words carefully. Always careful, always measuring, classic Rogue. "Logan--it's not that big a deal. We'll--we can go talk about it. Okay? Logan?" A glance at Dr. Grey that was pure warning, before she shifted so she stood physically between him and the rest of them, staring up at him, putting every bit of persuasion in her voice, every ounce of pure faith. His grip on her arm eased and she carefully pulled away, slowly, reaching up and getting his hand in her gloved one. "We'll--look, we'll go talk. If you--if you wanna go then, we'll go, okay? Jubes can pack my stuff and send it later. But--but let's talk first. Please, Logan? Talk." A turn on her heel, that steady gaze fixed on them all, one by one, an individual warning apiece, her way or the highway. She was the only person he'd ever met who could intimidate you wearing pajama bottoms and still trembling from her dreams. "Everyone out. Now."

St. John didn't waste a second. Getting Jubes by the arm, he pulled her toward the door, shoveling Bobby along with them. Several seconds, and a glance inside, showed Dr. Grey lingering, watching them both.

"Rogue--"

"I think you should go." Rogue had turned fully, defensively, he thought. Logan still hadn't moved, and from here, St. John could see his free hand clench, saw the stretch of leather across Rogue's knuckles gripping Logan's hand, her silent message telling him to let her handle it. "Jeanie, this is my problem, 'kay? Go. Talk to Cyke, tell him--tell him I may be leavin' in a few hours."

"Rogue, honey--"

"Don't make me ask again."

Dr. Grey took a breath, then turned stiffly, walking out of the room, past the students as if she didn't even see them--and hell, she might not. Jubilee, once she was down the hall, reached in and shut the door, but not before St. John saw Logan's gloved hand brush across Rogue's cheek, her head bent slightly as she tried to brace herself.

"Marie," he said softly, and St. John didn't know Logan could be that gentle, tilting her head up carefully, brushing her hair back from her face. Perfect, unwavering focus on her and her alone. "Marie, tell me."

"Johnny? What's going on?" Bobby's voice in his ear. With a sigh, Jubilee turned to look at them.

"I'll go tell Remy and Kitty--she had an idea of how it would go down and went to warn him."

"You can sleep in our room tonight," Bobby said softly. Almost absently, as if he really wasn't paying attention. "Door'll be unlocked. Just come on in. You ready, Johnny?"

"Yeah." St. John looked at the door thoughtfully for a minute. "Yeah. Jubes, you can sleep with me--Bobby'll freeze your ass if you try to climb in with him." A punch to his shoulder--and wasn't that just a little hard for a joke?--before Jubilee grinned oddly and took off down the hall. Rubbing his upper arm---damn, that was it, he was doubling his workout time per week--St. John followed Bobby back to their room.

One look at his bed, however, stopped him cold.

"Shit." Blankets, pillow gone, and you couldn't pay him to walk back to that room. Hell, he didn't think he could get as far as walking out the door at this point.

Bobby followed his gaze, frowning a little.

"Where's your--oh." His voice was quiet, and Bobby turned away, going to his bed to sit down, pulling off his shoes absently. St. John stayed where he was for a moment, leaning back against the wall to watch Bobby as he pulled off his shirt and got up to go to the dresser, absently dropping his clothes on the floor. Averted his eyes when Bobby began stripping.

He wondered which question Bobby was gonna ask first.

"You want her, Johnny?"

St. John flicked his gaze up, but Bobby was pulling on sweatpants, bare-chested, looking so much like always that it seemed just a little too weird.

"We were sleeping. That's all." He kept his voice even, but everything in him felt faintly sick. Very wrong--this wasn't how it should happen, it just wasn't. This wasn't the way he wanted this to go--they needed to talk. But not like this.

"You usually sleep with your friends?" Bobby asked softly, and he walked stiffly to his bed, sitting down. Expressionless voice and St. John couldn't read anything on his face at all. Like some weird betrayal, like he'd been unfaithful, and he didn't like feeling that.

"I sleep with you. Is there supposed to be a difference?" Ouch, that hurt, he knew it, and St. John crossed his arms over his chest, hating himself for the edge in his voice. Bobby stared at him for a minute, and then looked away again, eyes fixed on the door just to St. John's left.

"I don't know." There was honest confusion in his voice. "I was sort of wondering about that." St. John's gaze went back to Bobby, but Bobby was still staring at the door. "What you're doing. What I'm doing, you know? You never--"

"Hey!" Jubilee came skidding in, coming to an abrupt stop--she could read mood like few people St. John had ever met. "Whoa doggies, what did I screw up here?"

Bobby was the first to recover.

"Nothin'. Johnny left all his stuff with Rogue, so lucky me, we gotta share this bed. Either one of you say something about sleepin' on the floor, I'm going to remind you that I could accidentally freeze it tonight." It was the best imitation smile St. John had ever seen in his life. "Come on, kiddos. I'm tired and if Logan's still here tomorrow, we got first day of the fun of advanced combat training. Let's get sleep while we can."

Jubilee blinked and St. John levered himself off the wall, going to the dresser and pulling out some sweats and a t-shirt for Jubilee to borrow before glancing at Bobby. Behind him, he heard Jubilee strip off her dress and jacket and hose--she could dress in record time--then she hopped by him, climbing up to the foot of the bed and shifting over while St. John got his spare pillow from under his bed and followed her up.

It was hours before he slept. From Bobby's irregular breathing, he knew Bobby didn't sleep for long while either.


End file.
